xtr25
01-21-2015, 07:12 PM
A few years back, I lived in an apartment building that was about a ˝ mile, four-block walk to the beach. Through months of sensible eating and consistent, but reasonable, exercise, I had developed into feeling comfortable and confident in my own skin. Despite having no six pack, I had a flat stomach, and was lean, strong, and had decent musculature—healthy, I guess you could say, for the 30-year old male that I was. Because of that, I had no problem walking the four blocks between the beach, visiting my building’s pool, or even using my building’s laundry room wearing scant more than a tight fitting swim brief (shoes, flip flops, a wrist watch, or sunglasses might be the only other things I’d wear). And given the warm beach environment, I saw nothing outrageous about my mild exhibitionism, nor had I ever once encountered negativity from anyone about it.
One laundry day morning, I was going about my routine as usual: I had stripped down to whatever swim brief I planned on wearing for that day (a royal blue, size 28 Nike, as I recall), hauled my clothes to the laundry room for cleaning, started the wash, went for a quick dip in the pool, moved my washed clothes to the dryer, and made my way back to my apartment to wait out the drying time.
As I waited to catch the elevator back to my floor, however, I was joined by my new neighbor from the apartment next to mine—an attractive single woman in her early 50s, who was still the in process of moving in and unpacking. She smiled approvingly, and looked pleasantly surprised to see her younger next-door neighbor wearing nothing but a very revealing tight blue swim bikini and running shoes.
We exchanged pleasantries and talked as we waited for the elevator, and as we made our way back to our end of the floor. I explained that I had nothing else to wear but my swimsuit, because it was laundry day for me and all of my regular clothes were in the wash. She said that she had just moved from out of town to live closer to some friends who had been in the area for a while, and that she loved the idea of living near the beach. I asked her how her move was going. She said slower than she would have liked.
Reflexively, I offered to help out in any way that I could, absent-mindedly thinking that she would just waive my offer at being neighborly; or take me up on it when I had more things to wear than just a slinky bright blue swim bikini. To my surprise, however, she asked if I could help her out right now with some things that she was eager to unpack and arrange. I replied that I could, but that I would have to do it as dressed. (Or undressed, however you like.) Again to my surprise, she said that would be fine, if I felt comfortable helping out while wearing only my swim brief.
At first my nerves quivered slightly at the thought of doing odd jobs for my new neighbor as her bikini-clad “slave.” But I quickly shed those nerves in the few moments on the spot that I thought about it, and as I replied that I would be happy to help.
So began a lengthy afternoon of me helping my new neighbor settle into her apartment, as her “Speedo”-wearing house boy for the day. My muscles flexed, and gathered sweat, as I crouched, reached, rotated, pushed, and pulled my neighbor’s belongings to where she directed—something which kept me rock hard the entire time I was working. She seemed to like the “show” that I was putting on, as she eventually took a seat on her couch and began ordering me around. The idea of taking orders like that from a cougar like her gave me an odd thrill, and only heightened my “excitement,” which was obvious from the bulging front of my swim brief.
Clearly eyeing my ass, legs, and bulge, my new neighbor complimented me on how good she thought that I looked in my little swimsuit. I responded with a boyish “thank you,” as I tugged at the now exposed drawstrings of my tiny bikini to draw them out farther. Having forgotten about my clothes in the laundry room dryer, I left to retrieve them, but quickly returned to the job—still, in just my teeny bikini, which my new neighbor seemed relieved that I was still wearing.
Things went on like this for a few more hours, with me flexing, straining, and strutting my stuff for my new neighbor, who hungrily stared at my speedo-clad body like I was tonight’s dinner. The day had reached into early evening, and I still had a few more small boxes of belongings to unpack. Instead of finishing, however, my neighbor suggested that I take a break from helping her unpack for the day, and invited me to take a seat next to her on the couch.
With my muscles still pumped and gleaming with sweat, and my hardon still proudly raging in my slinky little bikini, I did as she asked. I then offered to continue the job later if she wanted. She thanked me for everything that I had done, but said that she could manage the rest of it on her own. I replied that it was no problem, and that I was glad to have helped out a neighbor in the first place.
As I got up to leave, she asked what she could do to repay me. I responded that being friends and neighbors was more than enough. She then walked me to her door, reached out her hand, and gave me a cautious but appreciative squeeze on the shoulder. I smiled back, said thank you, and told her that she could call on me any time.
She grinned, and remarked that she hoped that wasn’t the last time she’d get to see me in a swim bikini. I smiled, and replied, “just name the time and the place.” Returning the smile, she said, “How about tomorrow night? I’m meeting some friends for a small get-together at their place, and would be glad to have some company along. How about it? Say you’ll go to this party in a speedo!” The exhibitionist inside of me couldn’t believe what it was hearing, and pounced at the chance of being this woman’s boy-toy for an evening. “Sure!” I replied: “I’ll wear my smallest, most eye-catching bikini.” With that, she gave me a playful spank, and sent me on my way.
One laundry day morning, I was going about my routine as usual: I had stripped down to whatever swim brief I planned on wearing for that day (a royal blue, size 28 Nike, as I recall), hauled my clothes to the laundry room for cleaning, started the wash, went for a quick dip in the pool, moved my washed clothes to the dryer, and made my way back to my apartment to wait out the drying time.
As I waited to catch the elevator back to my floor, however, I was joined by my new neighbor from the apartment next to mine—an attractive single woman in her early 50s, who was still the in process of moving in and unpacking. She smiled approvingly, and looked pleasantly surprised to see her younger next-door neighbor wearing nothing but a very revealing tight blue swim bikini and running shoes.
We exchanged pleasantries and talked as we waited for the elevator, and as we made our way back to our end of the floor. I explained that I had nothing else to wear but my swimsuit, because it was laundry day for me and all of my regular clothes were in the wash. She said that she had just moved from out of town to live closer to some friends who had been in the area for a while, and that she loved the idea of living near the beach. I asked her how her move was going. She said slower than she would have liked.
Reflexively, I offered to help out in any way that I could, absent-mindedly thinking that she would just waive my offer at being neighborly; or take me up on it when I had more things to wear than just a slinky bright blue swim bikini. To my surprise, however, she asked if I could help her out right now with some things that she was eager to unpack and arrange. I replied that I could, but that I would have to do it as dressed. (Or undressed, however you like.) Again to my surprise, she said that would be fine, if I felt comfortable helping out while wearing only my swim brief.
At first my nerves quivered slightly at the thought of doing odd jobs for my new neighbor as her bikini-clad “slave.” But I quickly shed those nerves in the few moments on the spot that I thought about it, and as I replied that I would be happy to help.
So began a lengthy afternoon of me helping my new neighbor settle into her apartment, as her “Speedo”-wearing house boy for the day. My muscles flexed, and gathered sweat, as I crouched, reached, rotated, pushed, and pulled my neighbor’s belongings to where she directed—something which kept me rock hard the entire time I was working. She seemed to like the “show” that I was putting on, as she eventually took a seat on her couch and began ordering me around. The idea of taking orders like that from a cougar like her gave me an odd thrill, and only heightened my “excitement,” which was obvious from the bulging front of my swim brief.
Clearly eyeing my ass, legs, and bulge, my new neighbor complimented me on how good she thought that I looked in my little swimsuit. I responded with a boyish “thank you,” as I tugged at the now exposed drawstrings of my tiny bikini to draw them out farther. Having forgotten about my clothes in the laundry room dryer, I left to retrieve them, but quickly returned to the job—still, in just my teeny bikini, which my new neighbor seemed relieved that I was still wearing.
Things went on like this for a few more hours, with me flexing, straining, and strutting my stuff for my new neighbor, who hungrily stared at my speedo-clad body like I was tonight’s dinner. The day had reached into early evening, and I still had a few more small boxes of belongings to unpack. Instead of finishing, however, my neighbor suggested that I take a break from helping her unpack for the day, and invited me to take a seat next to her on the couch.
With my muscles still pumped and gleaming with sweat, and my hardon still proudly raging in my slinky little bikini, I did as she asked. I then offered to continue the job later if she wanted. She thanked me for everything that I had done, but said that she could manage the rest of it on her own. I replied that it was no problem, and that I was glad to have helped out a neighbor in the first place.
As I got up to leave, she asked what she could do to repay me. I responded that being friends and neighbors was more than enough. She then walked me to her door, reached out her hand, and gave me a cautious but appreciative squeeze on the shoulder. I smiled back, said thank you, and told her that she could call on me any time.
She grinned, and remarked that she hoped that wasn’t the last time she’d get to see me in a swim bikini. I smiled, and replied, “just name the time and the place.” Returning the smile, she said, “How about tomorrow night? I’m meeting some friends for a small get-together at their place, and would be glad to have some company along. How about it? Say you’ll go to this party in a speedo!” The exhibitionist inside of me couldn’t believe what it was hearing, and pounced at the chance of being this woman’s boy-toy for an evening. “Sure!” I replied: “I’ll wear my smallest, most eye-catching bikini.” With that, she gave me a playful spank, and sent me on my way.